Instincts

This morning one of our cows had twins.  My cow book shows this is a new experience for her, but she took it all in stride and began cleaning up the firstborn even as the second baby was still coming!  

When we went back to check on them this hot afternoon, though, the black heifer calf had wandered off.  Probably looking for some shade, the newborn had gone under a fence and laid down in some tall grass.  If we hadn't found her, she might have been coyote supper tonight.

Mama and twin brother seemed to have bonded though and moved to another part of the pasture. Sometimes a mother will forget she has two babies on that first day, and other times all three will be together continually. Twins are usually more trouble for cattlemen and not the double blessing it might first seem!

We’re unsure if the little heifer got any of that important first milk colostrum, though.  So rancher Bob put her under my feet in the pick-up (a fairly common event when you have 400 cows) and we drove home without even a mess to clean up (that part only happens about ½ the time!)

While he went back with a trailer to load the mama and brother to bring them home, I mixed up some packaged colostrum (wonderful invention!) and headed for the pen to see if the little black beauty would suck.  At the first taste she was up banging on the fence… and me… wanting more.  That 2 quarts was gone in a flash.  Love it when they still have that strong sucking instinct and we don’t have to tube them!

We never tire of the miracle of birth around here and the natural instincts these creatures have.  The cow knowing to go off alone when it’s her time to calve, getting herself up as soon as the baby hits the ground, stimulating the calf to stand right away by a vigorous licking and  cleaning,  and then waiting patiently for the baby to stumble around, find the milk and figure out the delivery system.  

And then there’s the calf’s instincts:  getting up on those wobbly legs, sometimes within 5 minutes of birth, knowing where to find something for his empty belly, getting that tongue in just the right position for optimal feeding efficiency.

Seldom will the mamas go off and leave their newborns in the first 8 hours or so, even for a drink on a blistering hot day like this one.   But when she does, she will remember exactly where she left hers in a whole pasture of similar calves.  And right away he will recognize her special bawl and come running when she calls.

This particular cow looks like she has enough milk for two, so we will keep them in the corral for a week or so to make sure both calves are doing well.  Every now and then we have to take one away though and sell it to someone who wants a bottle calf.  

Occasionally we have another cow that’s lost her calf but still has good milk and we try to pair them up. Then we have to employ measures to override her maternal instincts to get her to accept a calf she didn’t birth.  Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. But that’s a whole other story.

Anyway, this afternoon I’m thinking about instincts and that all this is no accident. I’m remembering that verse in Psalm 139 and I’m thanking God that not only people, but animals too, are “fearfully and wonderfully made”!

He Knows My Name

Last week our 4 year old grandson came for a farm visit.  His name is Brody but at least twice a day I called him Brian!  It was 40 years ago when his daddy Brian was this age, but the resemblance and actions are just so similar, it’s uncanny.

Now we have Brody’s sister Abby here and I’m having different flashbacks.  People say my granddaughters look like me, but Abby looks so much like the photos of my own mom when she was young.   Big brown eyes, thick dark hair, petite, pretty.  I can hardly look at Abby without thinking of mom.

 

Abigail Grace Wright
2001-



My mom Neomi Marie Johnson Stauffer
1924-1988

My graduation photo: DeAnna Stauffer Wright

1946-

 Mom died at age 64 with only one grandchild.  She never knew the names of her 4 great granchildren.  Never got to hold them, read to them, cook with them, go to their programs, or take them fishing. Sometimes that thought saddens me. She loved kids and would have enjoyed watching them grow up so much. 

I like to do family genealogy research and sometimes I find an old photo that looks just like a descendant maybe 4 or 5 generations later.  Love that.  Family traits can be very strong.  My mom Neomi didn't look much like her mother, but she really favored her grandmother Florence.



Florence Rosella Thomas Green
1870-1936

Cynthia Jeanette Crafton Wright
Mother of our 4 precious grandkids and another brown eyed beauty!
1970-

I’ve always appreciated the way Abraham’s death is described in Genesis 25:  “he breathed his last, died in a ripe old age, satisfied with life, and was gathered to his people.” What a comforting thought:  gathered to his people.  My mom had a difficult life and she didn’t reach a ripe old age, but she was satisfied with life and it’s comforting to know she too was gathered to her people.

 When I think about God looking down and knowing intimately all the tens of thousands of people in even just my direct family line, it’s hard to imagine He never forgets a name.  But I know it’s true. 

What a grand family reunion we’ll have in heaven someday!  Mom will finally get to love on Haley, Abby, Brody, and Blaze.  We'll be on a first name basis with everyone who's ever claimed that most precious Name of all...Jesus.

The Lord, your Creator, and the One Who formed you says

“Don’t fear. I have redeemed you and called you by name.  You are mine.”

Isaiah 43:1





 


 

 

 

 





 

   



      

                                                                                                                                     















Different Duds

2011 Brody's rendition of cowboy

I love this picture and I’ve realized this week that there’s yet another generation in our family with unconventional taste in clothes.  Guess I shouldn’t be surprised….Brody’s dad Brian sometimes rode his horse, roped,  doctored, and moved ranch cattle all day long in shorts and boots or even sneakers. 

His dad often had to insist that Brian wear his “real” cowboy gear when cattle customers came to visit because they wouldn’t give the head wrangler the credit he deserved if he didn’t look the part!

Sometimes Brian dressed to fit the role, but I wish I'd taken shots of the other days! 

  

In high school Brian might go snowmobiling, skiing, or tubing in a brightly flowered Hawaiian shirt. He started another trend wearing little tweed English style driving caps.   No following the latest fashions for him!  Maybe he was just trying to escape the farm and ranch boy image; we never knew. At Fairplay high school they still have The Brian Wright Memorial Award each year for the most trend-setting (out of the box?)senior .

Today Brian works in different clothes.  Most Sundays he preaches wearing jeans or khakis and casual shirts.  His congregation approves though; they actually don't even want him to wear a suit and tie, so it all works out fine.

Then there’s grandpa Bob. A few years ago he decided that wearing cowboy boots and jeans to farm in the Oklahoma summer heat was just too uncomfortable.  He endures lots of comments and jabs about his shorts and sneakers, but I notice now there are some other farmers around these parts climbing on this comfort bandwagon too. Besides Bob has nice tan legs when he wants to go golfing!

                                                            Grandpa Bob these days

Repairs can be done in shorts! 

So for three generations now casual comfort seems to trump traditional style in the Wright family.  But as long as our clothes are modest and functional, our work gets done, and we honor God, it surely must not matter if we're fashionable.

I just wonder what our great grandsons will be wearing someday?

Vulchers and Hummingbirds

Hummingbirds and Vulchers



When we ranched in Colorado,  I never tired of refilling the hummingbird feeders because of the reward of watching those amazing flashes of color and furious flight around our yard.

Working outside I loved to listen to their whirring wings and unique warble and it wasn’t long before I just had to have my own book on hummingbirds to identify the different ones and learn where they’d traveled from to reach the mountains at just the right time of year.

It was three years before I ever found a nest, although I had searched lots of times.  This one was only feet from the house in a big lodgepole pine.  A tiny, perfectly constructed circle of twigs and fibers with only enough room inside for a quarter coin.   Mine was empty and it made me wonder if I had also obliviously passed by the tiny newborns that had hatched there when they first emerged to try their wings.

Back here on the Oklahoma plains again I missed those hummers and was envious of friends who lived in the tiny towns nearby who hosted these regular summer visitors.  I kept setting out feeders and planting good nectar flowers hoping some would visit our yard,  but after several years with no success of my own, I was about to give up.  Then I read that sometimes to attract hummers to a new area it helps to tie red flags in trees around your yard to catch the attention of those migrating past.  Sure enough it worked! We have at least 2 pair returning every spring now.  They especially love the trumpet vine flowers on our kitchen arbor and we “lunch together” often!

There is another bird, however, that we never care to see;  big black vulchers.  When we drive into a pasture to check cows and see vulchers hovering over an area, it often means a calf or cow is dying or already dead.  These dreaded scavengers have an uncanny ability to know when to be there for lunch. 

I realized recently that I actually know very little about these creatures.  Their nests must be large, but I’ve never seen one.  I’ve never seen a baby vulcher either. They all seem to appear on the scene full-grown and ravenous from some hidden lair.

To satisfy my dark curiosity I did some online research on vulchers.  (Isn’t it wonderful to have such a huge, up to date, and better yet, FREE library in our homes today?)  I already knew they are also called turkey vultures or buzzards and that they feed on dead critters, properly called carrion.  I learned that they nest in caves, hollow trees and thickets, but only during hatching season.  The rest of the time they roost in dead, leafless trees or manmade structures like microwave towers.  Vultures lack a vocal organ and can only hiss and grunt.  Somehow that seems fitting. 

Vulchers are protected by the Migratory Bird act, but I would definitely shoot one dead that was trying to feed on a suffering baby calf!

Unlike most birds, both sexes are identical in plumage and color, and the females are usually larger. They have an ultra keen sense of sight and smell and flying low enough, they detect the gasses of decaying animals.  “Hey, Lucille, did you get a whiff of that?  Yum, yum.  Hiss, hiss.  Grunt!”

Often in our pastures or on the roads we see vulchers standing on the ground with their wings spread, looking very menacing.  Wikipedia says this stance is believed to serve multiple functions: drying the wings, warming the body, and baking off bacteria.  I’m sure they need to do the latter often!

Some other disgusting bits of buzzard info.  They have very few natural predators except an occasional eagle or hungry horned owl.   The vulcher’s primary form of defense is regurgitating semi-digested meat, a foul-smelling substance (imagine that!) which deters most creatures intent on raiding a vulture nest. It will also sting if the predator is close enough to get the vomit in its face or eyes. In some cases, the vulture must rid its crop of a heavy, undigested meal in order to take flight to flee from a potential predator.  (Remind me not to stand under one when I'm shooting at it!)

Now I know that vulchers are just as much God’s creatures as hummingbirds and that they serve a purpose in the overall scheme of wildlife, but you’re sure not going to see me hanging any dead varmints in my trees to attract them to my yard!

And that’s all I’m going to say about that,

plainsgirl